


Keep Your Old and Wasted Words

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: (Chris was 17), Chris is famous, M/M, Tom isn't, adoptive brothers, brief reference to underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:56:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris sighed, a heavy sound that held notes of resignation. "Have you really been mad at me all this time?"</p>
<p>"Well," Tom sniffed, finally lifting his head and looking out. "Turns out consummating your complicated relationship with your adopted brother just days before he leaves to become a film star isn't the best recipe for happiness. Forgive me if I'm still a little sore about it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Your Old and Wasted Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd, sorry for any mistakes. Written, as always, for [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerdanger/pseuds/rangerdanger) who is my dear friend, constant companion and a source of much inspiration. <3
> 
> Inspired by [these](http://33.media.tumblr.com/fdbbd73ffeacd335233fa5001c045c2c/tumblr_n9g3w1UdeP1t7x9x7o1_500.jpg) [pictures](http://37.media.tumblr.com/d91a3254c90a3f2b4d8bd36c9038c10f/tumblr_n9g3w1UdeP1t7x9x7o2_500.jpg).

Father's Winter Ball was always a big hit, well attended by local celebrities and press alike, always filled with the same rich bigwigs and trophy wives. Tom dreaded it every year. The twinkling lights, the unflattering ball gowns, the incessant bloody clinking of wine glasses. Each Ball was as insufferable as the last and Tom was sure that this one would be no different.  
  
That was, at least, until he found his mother in the throng of people. Her gown was a shiny, silky material that stretched and bulged without mercy on her increasingly tubby frame. Of course, Tom took her hand and told her she looked wonderful.  
  
"Your brother's here," she said after a sip of champagne, tilting her lipstick-stained glass to the left as if to direct his attention. Tom's heartbeat kicked up a notch as his eyes followed the movement and, sure enough, a couple of paces from the free-standing bar stood Chris.  
  
He looked incredible, just like he did in the magazines, and Tom felt all of a sudden as if his knees couldn't be trusted to keep him upright.  
  
Chris' suit was a crisp, tailored blue-grey affair that hugged his neat waist but sprawled lovingly across his wide shoulders. His hair, darker blonde than it would be at the height of summer, was pushed back out of his face in accordance with the etiquette of formal occasions. Father had drilled that into them both after the first Ball they'd attended in their late teens.  
  
Tom had been fifteen and an only child when they'd decided to adopt. Chris, fourteen and tall for his age, had arrived with a golden tan and straggly blonde hair but a frame so skinny his joints seemed to jut out and his eyes sat sunken above harsh cheekbones. He was Australian born and sometimes used slang that Tom didn't understand, but they had become fast friends.  
  
Chris had never had his own bedroom or taken a shower in a non-communal bathroom; discovering his adoptive home afforded him both of those things had been overwhelming enough, and then he'd discovered the walk-in wardrobe. In the first month Tom had found him sitting in there on several occasions, knees pulled up to his chest, and had taken it upon himself to join him. Before long Chris would seek him out instead of insisting upon solitude, and within months he was fully and comfortably integrated into the family.  
  
In the years following the adoption Chris had gained muscle and lost his tan but their parents were never able to negotiate with him about his hair. To Father's horror Chris had arrived at his first Ball well-dressed and full of charm but with his long hair hanging loose around his face. Tom had thought he looked handsome, but Father had given him a talking to afterwards and Chris had returned home later that week with his hair short.  
  
He looked great for it though. He looked great all the time, Tom had always thought that.  
  
"Go and say hi," his mother said, nudging. "I'm sure he'd love to see you."  
  
And, well, Tom wasn't entirely sure of that but he nodded all the same. Ideally he'd have liked a warning, a couple of days at least to prepare for seeing Chris again, but all he had was the time it took him to stride with faux-confidence across the room.  
  
He paused at Chris' shoulder, unnoticed for the moment, and took in the low rumble of that familiar voice. Chris had never really lost the accent, simply refined it to appease Father, and now that he was even more well-travelled his words sounded rounder and even odder than before.  
  
"It's a blast," he was saying to the woman beside him, pronouncing the word _blah_ -st like any true Westminster boy, when Tom let out an unintentional huff beside him. Chris whipped his head around fast, mouth stuttering on whatever he was about to say, before he turned back to the woman and smiled. "I'm sorry, do you mind if I excuse myself? I haven't spoken to my brother in a long time."  
  
She went with the promise to return later, and Tom was very suddenly the entire focus of Chris' attention. As if no years had passed at all Chris reached for him, taking hold of him by the elbows and shaking them lightly. "Tom," he said, face lighting up.  
  
Despite his reservations, Tom couldn't help but give in to his urge to smile back. His eyes once again moved across the ridiculous span of his brother's shoulders and chest, even more imposing up close, feeling shaken by his sudden appearance. He thought to say something nice but what came out of his mouth was; "I didn't know you'd be gracing us with your divine presence. Did somebody sacrifice a goat in your honour?"  
  
Chris' expression pinched slightly for just a second, almost imperceptibly, but any response he had for Tom's unsubtle dig didn't make it past his lips. He simply shrugged. "I didn't know myself until two days ago. There was an unexpected break in filming, so. Here I am."  
  
"Here you are," Tom nodded. "Nice of you to call ahead."  
  
At that, Chris let his hands drop from Tom's elbows and inched backwards. Like a true professional he didn't let his smile falter, even smiling and nodding at a passing couple who called his name.  
  
Tom sighed, wiping at his mouth irritably. So maybe he was bitter. It shouldn't have come as any surprise to Chris, given how they had left things.  
  
"You need a drink?" Chris asked, obviously trying for civilised.  
  
Tom shook his head again, already turning away. "I think I need some air, actually."  
  
\-   
  
Out on the balcony the air was cool and whipped by at high speed. The building rocked slightly to and fro with the wind, and Tom had to grip the edge with tight fingers as he dipped his head to catch his breath. He didn't want to be cruel to Chris, but it seemed impossible not to be.  
  
To Tom, Chris was everything and nothing all at once, absent and yet ever present,  everything Tom could ever want and would never have. Never again, anyway.  
  
It had built up over time, the other feeling between them. Chris had once asked if Tom could remember the exact moment that he'd looked at him and seen something other than a brother, and Tom had told him honestly that he had no idea. It was something he pondered often.  
  
His breath was coming a little easier by the time the door slid open behind him and, even with his head dipped and the years they'd spent apart, Tom could tell it was Chris without a word being spoken between them.  
  
"Got you one anyway," Chris said, making his way to Tom's side until his solid upper arm brushed Tom's shoulder. "You still drink scotch, right?"  
  
Afraid that he'd give something away if he spoke, Tom only nodded as he tilted his head slightly and took the drink without making eye contact.  
  
Chris sighed, a heavy sound that held notes of resignation. "Have you really been mad at me all this time?"  
  
Regretful. He sounded regretful. Tom wondered, with that hint of bitterness in his throat again, what exactly it was that Chris regretted. The metal squeaked under his fingers as his fists tightened impossibly more on the bar.  
  
"Well," he sniffed, finally lifting his head and looking out. "Turns out consummating your complicated relationship with your adopted brother just days before he leaves to become a film star isn't the best recipe for happiness. Forgive me if I'm still a little sore about it."  
  
And, all sarcasm aside, that was how it had happened. Months of build up had led to it; many lingering looks and several instances of drunken kissing, before finally one night when their parents were away and the cleaners had left them to their own mess, Chris had tipped himself on top of Tom mid video-game and sucked a dark pink bruise where his shoulder met his throat.  
  
The fucking had been a little awkward and painful at first - for Tom at least, being carelessly rutted into by his eighteen year old adopted brother - but the feeling of closeness between them was unparalleled. Despite his discomfort they'd done it several times, until eventually Chris was able to make him come too. On the sofa and then the floor beside the sofa, followed by a soapy handjob for Tom in the shower and then another fuck in Chris' bed.  
  
Tom had felt...alive. Long after Chris had drifted into a deep sleep Tom had remained awake, reaching between his legs to prod at his sore hole and smiling into his pillow. Chris was the epitome of everything he'd ever wanted, and now he had him in the most complete way. They had each other in the most complete way.  
  
It couldn't entirely be blamed on Chris.  
  
Days later when Tom had found the printed emails under the pillow he hadn't exactly been understanding. Chris' increasingly frequent weekend trips had actually been, it turned out, auditions set up by an agent who had signed him months earlier. And he'd landed a job.  
  
"Come with me," he'd whispered into the hot skin behind Tom's ear, arms enveloping him completely as Tom silently read the itinerary for Chris' three months in Ireland. A secondary role in a sci-fi series that was destined for cancellation but no doubt a platform for its stars. Where Tom should have felt elated he felt cold, shaken.  
  
"Come," Chris had said again, a quiet plea.  
  
"And do what?" Tom had angrily hissed, tossing the paper aside and fighting his way out of the embrace. "Hang out in your hotel and pine for you while you're making a name for yourself?"  
  
It had only gotten worse from there, and by the time Chris had left they were barely exchanging glances let alone words. Their parents weren't entirely pleased about Chris' career choice but Father had arranged a car to deliver Chris to the airport all the same, and as they'd stood in the street to see him off Tom had stood his ground several feet away and simply watched, refusing to validate Chris' exit with a goodbye.  
  
The rumble of the car's engine had made him jump, aching with regret for being so cold, but as he moved towards the car the driver had already begun to pull away.  
  
Tom had gone from having everything he wanted to being completely alone in a matter of days.  
  
Maintaining other relationships had been impossible. Chris was the standard that Tom held everyone to and nobody matched up. Nobody even came close. Sex was only good when it was impersonal and Tom often took to it selfishly with little regard for his partners, ignoring their complaints whenever he got bored and climbed off before they'd finished.  
  
Work was what he lived for. Preparations for taking over the company once father was too poorly to do so, networking with other companies, insinuating himself into the hierarchy of the building. Father had become more and more frail, more grey and tired, in the last few years - almost as if his star was falling as Chris' was rising. The family had somehow managed to largely ignore both things. It was a particular sore point with their parents that Chris had chosen to go by his surname at birth rather than his adopted name.  
  
Chris came home when he could, between projects, which was quite often at first but then not so often, and then barely ever at all. He and Tom kept things civil, light-hearted, but they didn't call and Chris only wrote a couple of times before giving up.  
  
He'd done a lot of bit-parts, with his handsome face and his good work ethic, but it wasn't until he'd landed a role in an independent thriller starring Sean Bean that their parents took any real notice, and not long after that he'd called home with huge news. Marvel were taking a chance on him.  
  
Tom had watched everything he'd ever been in, secretly and with an air of obsession, but nothing had prepared him for seeing Chris on the big screen in red and gold, starring alongside Natalie bloody Portman. A bizarre and oddly painful experience; almost like having wet cement poured over Tom's hope that they'd one day be together, and then watching it set.  
  
Chris hadn't been home for a year and Tom had been grateful. Relieved. Heartbroken.  
  
But he was home now.  
  
And he was reaching for Tom's elbow again, slowly, almost as if he was approaching a skittish animal, and Tom let it happen because he was too shaken to loosen his grip on the bar.  
  
"Tom," he whispered, stepping closer. "Tommy."  
  
The nickname made him flinch. Chris had called him that with affection for the first year of living with them, always said with a smile, until their mother had felt comfortable enough to tell him that she didn't like it. It didn't matter that Tom had liked it, only that she didn't. And that was that.  
  
"I'm okay," Tom said, even though it was a lie. "I just don't like surprises. And I fucking hate these parties."  
  
Maybe it was his tone or perhaps just nostalgia, but Chris laughed. Tom shot him a look, immediately feeling weakened by Chris' light expression, his lovely smile. How good it would've been to fall into his arms. But Tom held himself rigid, unwilling to open himself up again to the pain of having Chris for a fleeting moment and then watching him leave again within days, or even hours maybe.  
  
"I think I'm going to go," he said, finally stepping back from the steel bar. The skyline, dark blue and smattered with tiny lights like stars, was little comfort in the face of Chris' silence.  
  
Neither of them said a word as Tom shifted towards the heavy glass door and slid it open just enough to slip through.  
  
He did a brief circle of the room, feigning a headache and apologising profusely for rushing off. Father wasn't impressed, but let him go all the same, and before leaving the room Tom had chanced one last look out onto the balcony and found Chris still there, looking out.  
  
\-   
  
The true penthouse was a vast space that took up the entire top floor and incorporated the roof garden, but Tom's parents were staying there, of course, leaving him to inhabit one of the two suites below. Each suite had an equal share of the floor, separated only by the narrow hallway that the lift opened out into.  
  
Earlier when Tom had gotten ready in his suite there had been nobody occupying the one across, but when the lift doors opened on his way back he was met by a short brunette who looked startled to see him. Her tired eyes were distorted by the thick lenses of her large glasses, but paired with the oversized cardigan, bright tights and thick-soled boots she looked, Tom thought, utterly darling.  
  
"Oh!" She said, rushing to move the large suitcase that was blockading the hall. It was clearly heavy, and her heaving didn't get the thing very far. It was awkward to watch, and to Tom's horror she began to babble as she dragged the case along the carpeted floor. "So sorry, I didn't think anyone would have the other room. This place is so pricey. I'll be out of your hair in just a second. Mr Hemsworth didn't want to miss the party so he rushed from the airport and I waited for his luggage."  
  
Chris. Of course.  
  
Tom stepped out of the lift just as the doors were threatening to shut again, approaching the fidgety girl with caution. Each of her exhausted hefts only moved the case an inch at most so simply walking behind her until the hallway was clear wasn't an option.  
  
Sighing, Tom reached to take the handle from her. "I wonder what my brother's adoring fans would say if they knew he left a tiny thing like you to lug his heavy belongings around?"  
  
Once again her mouth opened in a little 'o' of surprise. "You're Tom?" She gasped, studying him more closely all of a sudden. "Wow. You know, he talks about you all the time. I didn't imagine you to be so..."  
  
Waiting, Tom raised a brow, but she only blushed and distracted herself by rooting around for the room key in her deep woollen pockets. While she did that, Tom glanced down at the suitcase and let out a little laugh. At her questioning look he prodded the large black button on top, releasing a set of wheels from underneath.  
  
She didn't seem to find it very funny.  
  
Between the two of them they got the case into the doorway of the room and then Tom excused himself to his own suite. Walking right through the living area into the bedroom he flopped gracelessly down on the ridiculous four poster bed and let out a long breath. His suit would be rumpled but he hardly cared.  
  
If he listened carefully he could hear the girl still shifting things around in the hallway. It was clear that Chris was living an entirely different life. Tom had lackeys in the office, sure, and he occasionally made use of a driver, but his personal life was left to him and he was glad of it. Tiny, excitable women with clipboards running around after him all day was amongst the worst things he could imagine.  
  
He fell asleep like that, sprawled on the bed listening in silence for the movements outside and when he woke up it was to a knocking on the door. Walking back through he tried to straighten himself up to no avail, and didn't bother looking through the peep hole in the door.  
  
He knew who it was.  
  
Chris had rid himself of his suit jacket and was holding up a small handwritten note, wry smile twisting his mouth, and when Tom snatched it away to read it Chris pressed his way inside the room.  
  
'Oh! I met your brother,' said the PS on the bottom. 'Super handsome! Tell him thanks for helping me.'  
  
Chris was smiling still when Tom looked up. "Hayley's hard to charm. Took her months to warm to me."  
  
Handing the note back, Tom turned away to shrug out of his jacket too. "I'm not surprised if you frequently leave her to carry your heavy luggage around. Aren't you supposed to be the god of protein shakes or something?"  
  
"Thunder," Chris corrected, still smiling, and then without giving Tom a moment to think he stepped into his space and pressed a palm to his forehead. "How are you feeling?"  
  
His tone was an odd mixture of genuine concern and sarcasm, as if he suspected Tom's headache was a lie but couldn't be one hundred percent sure.  
  
It was so familiar, to be crowded in by Chris and fussed over. Even though Tom was a year older Chris had revelled in having somebody to look after, and as they'd gotten older and Chris had surpassed him in terms of natural bulk that urge had only gotten stronger. There had never been a time in Tom's later teens where he felt alone or as if there wasn't somebody who had his back.  
  
"I'm okay," he said again, like he had on the balcony, but his shirt felt too tight all of a sudden and so the words came out with a grimace. He reached up to undo the top button, watching curiously as Chris' eyes dropped to the hollow of his throat.  
  
Chris had never been subtle when he was looking at something he liked. Just to see what he'd do, Tom slowly undid the next button, letting his fingertips skip down to the one beneath. Chris sucked in a sharp breath, eyes shooting back up to meet Tom's.  
  
"What're you doing?"  
  
Lifting one shoulder in a shrug, Tom shifted his expression and dropped his hand. "I don't know. Just...winding you up."  
  
Chris stared, voice low and tone serious when he said, "Don't do that."  
  
It should've been infuriating, being told what to do by Chris after years without contact, but Tom couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed, too exhausted by his presence alone. Chris was so close, so imposing, and it was almost as if every particle of Tom's body was drawn to him.  
  
"If you knew-" Chris broke off, shaking his head. For the first time Tom realised that Chris seemed exhausted too. His wide shoulders dropped, and as he cast his eyes downwards several strands of his hair fell to frame his face.  
  
Fingers itching to smooth them back, Tom clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "If I knew what?"  
  
Chris' jawline sharpened as he clenched his teeth. The few inches between them seemed vast in the silence that hung, and Tom recalled a moment just like it the day before Chris left.  
  
He had cornered Tom in the hallway while their parents were downstairs, attempting to pen him in so that he couldn't run. He had begged for Tom to understand, so frustrated and pained by Tom's stubbornness, but Tom had been too hurt by the perceived betrayal to give in and listen to him.  
  
Recalling the memory, Tom was hit by the sudden realisation that it might not have been Chris who ended their relationship after all.  
  
Reaching out, he let his fingers settle on the hard line of Chris' jaw, fingertips skipping over stubble while his thumb came up to swipe across his down-turned mouth.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, shrugging helplessly, hoping that Chris would be able to hear sincerity in it. "For winding you up and for anything else."  
  
Chris let out a slow breath, mouth shifting under Tom's thumb. "Never thought I'd hear you apologise for anything. Is that a course they send you on in business school?"  
  
Letting his hand drop Tom shoved lightly at his shoulder, pouting. "Oh, sod off. I was trying to have a serious moment with you."  
  
Catching his hand, Chris pulled him in with ease. "You want a moment?" he smiled his frustratingly dazzling smile. Crowding Tom in had always been his tactic, whether they were fighting or fucking or playing competitive sport, and it had always made Tom lose his breath.  
  
Chris dropping his head an inch was all it took for them to be sharing breath, brushing lips, falling back in time. Tom inhaled deep and slow, ready to press forward into the kiss.  
  
But Chris pulled back, barely, brushing the tip of his nose along Tom's cheek. "I have to leave in the morning."  
  
It was everything Tom expected and feared, getting Chris back within reach only to feel him slip away again, but this path had been laid out before him since he spotted Chris across the ballroom and, in spite of everything, he felt a small laugh bubble up.  
  
"God," he shoved again, not moving Chris even an inch. "You always have such shit timing."  
Chris' eyes pinched in a smile. "I know, I know. I'm kind of at the mercy of my management, alright?"  
  
You picked this, Tom wanted to say. You picked this over me. But he knew that wasn't entirely fair, and maybe whatever this was could be considered progress.  
  
Chris' hands slipped down to rest at his shoulders as he pressed their foreheads together, and Tom breathed in his warm whiskey breath and wished selfishly that Chris' career could bomb overnight and force him to come home forever.  
  
"I want to touch you," Chris murmured, voice dark and heavy, and Tom lifted his hands slowly to press flat palms against Chris' hard stomach. Pushing him away would've been the safest bet, the most sensible, but Tom had done sensible for far too long and he was starting to think that having Chris for one night every once in a while must be better than not having him at all.  
  
Sliding his hands up to the collar of Chris' shirt Tom chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. The top button came undone easily beneath his deft fingers, and when Chris made no objection Tom undid the next, and the next, until he was able to part the material completely.  
  
"Holy fuck," he breathed, eyes skipping over the contours of Chris' abdomen. The man was golden and waxed completely smooth so that each muscle was clearly defined and Tom couldn't help but take a moment appreciate it. "So it isn't all just special effects then."   
The muscles skipped under Tom's touch as he brushed them with his fingertips.  
  
"Oh no, this is all hard work and overeating protein, trust me." Chris murmured lightly as he watched Tom's fingers travel downwards. "The flying is CGI. I haven't quite mastered flight yet."  
  
Tom lifted his head to acknowledge the joke, eyes snagging on Chris' tongue as it lashed out to wet his bottom lip. "I think we're done talking now, movie star."  
  
It still felt odd to think of Chris on those terms. International film star Chris Hemsworth, God of Thunder, MTV Award Nominee and Hello Magazine's Torso of the Week. It was too surreal.  
  
But Chris stepping in closer, dipping his head and cupping Tom's face to hold him there - that was real.  
  
Tom's breath quickened with every inch Chris leaned in, and then his breath was stolen completely inside a kiss.  
  
It was just like he remembered; gentle and hesitant at first, learning each other's mouths all over again with slow tongues until his chest ached with the need to breathe. Chris' thumbs swept beneath his eyes, behind his ears, until he could tip Tom's jaw up to deepen the kiss.  
  
Gaining heat and urgency with each swipe of tongue they fell into each other, more confident with each moment that passed, and Tom slid his arms around Chris' still-slim waist beneath the open shirt. Chris' hardness was evident, and Tom rubbed as unsubtly as he could against him.  
  
Chris groaned into his mouth, spinning him and beginning to move. They stumbled towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss, each if them tripping over each other along the way but not caring enough to part, and before Tom knew it the bed was against the back of his thighs and he was being tipped and pressed into the soft mattress.  
  
He watched, catching his breath as Chris threw his opened shirt off and reached for the opening of his trousers. His biceps tightened and shifted as he twisted his wrists to undo the buttons, and then he was shoving them down and kicking them off to reveal thick, muscled thighs.  
  
His cock was half-hard and obvious through his neat white briefs, and Tom desperately wanted to get his mouth on it, to familiarise himself once more with the weight and feel of it against his tongue, to hear Chris' guttural groans. But when he reached out his hand was batted away. There'd be time for that in the morning, maybe.  
  
"Lift your hips," Chris said, voice dark with arousal, and when Tom did as asked his trousers were deftly unbuttoned and removed without any fuss or lingering touches. His underwear followed without preamble, and as he lowered his hips back to the bed Chris slid his palms up Tom's inner thighs to part them.  
  
For long moments his hands lingered there, stroking the soft skin where thigh met groin and simply watching hungrily as Tom's cock hardened at the gentle touches. His eyes roved the length of Tom's body hungrily, paying special attention to his face as he reached down to palm at Tom's hardness.  
  
"Don't tease," Tom's breath hitched as his back arched. "Come here."  
  
He wriggled backwards up the bed, not entirely graceful, and Chris followed on his knees. "You got lube? Condoms?"  
  
They'd never used condoms, there hadn't been any need, but Tom appreciated the need for them now. He'd had numerous sexual partners and no doubt Chris had experienced his fair share of models, actors and fans.  
  
"Hang on," Tom sighed, sliding to the edge of the mattress. Standing, he removed his shirt and let it drop to the floor, feeling Chris' eyes on his now naked body even as he walked to his case by the door. The lube and condoms were in the side pocket, where he always kept them for easy access, and he made a point of bending at the waist to retrieve them.  
  
"Look at you," Chris groaned, still kneeling on the bed, and when Tom turned back he found him stroking himself. He looked like a marble statue, all tight muscles and thick, hard cock curving upwards towards his abdomen, but his eyes were trained on Tom as though he was the best thing he'd ever laid eyes on.  
  
Tom had to force himself not to rush back to the bed, tossing the condom and lube onto the pillow as casually as possible, and then Chris was tugging him up onto the mattress with a solid arm around his waist.  
  
Throwing him down so that his head was on the pillow beside the condom, Chris parted Tom's thighs again and crawled, panther-like, to occupy the space between, his cock brushing Tom's thigh as he leaned down to kiss him again.  
  
It was a wetter, more heated kiss than before, fuelled by the feeling of skin-on-skin, and when Chris eventually leaned back he brushed the back of his fingers across Tom's mouth and chin.  
  
"Sorry," he murmured, looking down at him with a soft smile. Tom hadn't realised how much he'd missed that look. "You're getting stubble rash."  
  
Truthfully, Tom was so content he didn't care at all. "It's okay. I like it."  
  
And Chris leaned down again, but this time to kiss Tom's jaw, his throat, his collarbone, working his way down with light, chaste kisses. Tom watched, shivery with anticipation, as Chris shuffled down between his knees, and when Chris slipped his hands beneath Tom's thighs to expose his hole Tom did his best to help.  
  
Chris groaned, lifting one hand to lick wetly at his thumb.  
  
"If I don't fuck you soon I'm going to go crazy," Chris said, parting Tom's cheeks with gentle fingers and pressing the pad of his wet thumb against the puckered entrance. "But later I'm going to eat you out, I swear. Providing you don't kick me out."  
  
That wasn't something they'd ever done, both too new to sex and too hesitant to ask for the things they'd seen in porn, but Tom had thought about it often; particularly once Chris had begun to bulk up and take on more aggressive character roles. His characters were equally as present in Tom's fantasies as Chris himself was.  
  
He gasped as that thumb rubbed gently at his hole, making his toes curl. "Well I'm definitely not kicking you out if you're going to make promises like that."  
  
Chris' laughter puffed out gently against his skin as he rubbed his stubble against Tom's inner thigh, chasing the burn with kisses. He gestured crudely for the lube, winking at Tom's eye roll.  
  
He opened Tom with gentler fingers than he had in their youth, much more assured of his ability to do so, and by the time he had two fingers pumping and rubbing inside of him Tom could do little more than arch his back and try to press down onto the exquisite intrusion.  
  
Chris used his wrist to fuck into Tom deftly, watching with hungry eyes as Tom's hole accepted his fingers, breath growing heavier by the minute. He'd always been as turned on by that as Tom was, hard and leaking, gripping the base of his own cock while he got Tom's hole slick enough to fuck.  
  
He looked up at Tom's face again as he pressed a third finger inside, probably checking for discomfort, and while the stretch ached Tom was careful not to let it show in his expression.  
  
"That okay?" Chris murmured, eyes intent on Tom's face. "Feel good?"  
  
Tom gasped, nodding so hard the bed shook, and grasped impatiently at Chris' shoulders. "Come here, come here."  
  
With one last crook of his clever fingers Chris slipped them free of Tom's clenching hole and dutifully crawled up the bed. Holding himself up with hands either side of Tom's head he stared down, breathing heavily as Tom opened the condom packet and took him in hand to roll it on.  
  
Pumping more lube onto his other palm Tom gave the thick length a few strokes, twisting his fingers and rubbing the tip the way he remembered Chris liked, biting his lip to hide his amusement when Chris' breathing faltered and he pulled himself away.  
  
"That's enough," he nodded, taking hold of Tom's ankles with both hands, leaving finger-swipes of lube across one of his heels.  
  
Up on his knees he was better able to drag Tom another inch down the bed and press his knees up to his chest. Being manhandled made Tom, already desperate and panting, emit an embarrassingly high-pitched sound.  
  
Pulling Tom's hands up to hold his own legs in place, Chris reaching down to take himself in hand. With a grin he rubbed the head of his cock against Tom's hole, pushing just enough so that Tom could feel it but not pressing inside just yet. He did it once twice, watching hotly as he did.  
  
Tom dropped his head back against the pillow and all but growled. "I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill you if you don't fuck me right now."  
  
And even as Chris laughed he tilted his hips and pressed inside, his amused chuckle breaking off into a groan as he breached Tom's muscle and sank into his clenching heat.  
  
He made a fist at the base of his cock and pushed in only to there, allowing Tom a moment to adjust, and Tom remembered it well; the odd, burning stretch of taking Chris' fat cock for the first time. The head had been a struggle, Chris too rough trying to press inside, and when Tom's hole had given around him Chris had bullied his way inside with seemingly little regard for Tom until he'd been smacked upside the head. After that he'd been more gentle, but still with a careless priority for his own pleasure.  
  
It wasn't like that now. Chris pressed in with slow, sure strokes, a little deeper each time. Mouth open, he blinked down at Tom, hair falling into his face again. He looked a little dazed, drunk, his face softer and looking more like the boy Tom remembered than he had in years. Tom felt powerful and wanted beneath the heated gaze, savouring every inch as Chris pressed inside deeper, deeper until he was fully seated inside.  
  
They both needed a moment then, their pleasure hanging in mid-air, before Chris leaned down to cover Tom's body with his own and take his mouth again. It wasn't much of a kiss, more a sharing of breath, but it was so good and familiar, so comforting, and before long Chris had begun to move his hips.  
  
Just shallow thrusts, almost as if he couldn't bare to separate their bodies, but it was enough to have Tom breaking the kiss and gasping for much needed air. Chris' fingers threaded into his hair, tipping his head back until they were eye to eye.  
  
Physically it was almost like being fucked by an entirely different person, but the feeling was exactly the same. Their eyes met, each of them panting harshly, and it was like they'd never been apart.  
  
"I've missed you," Chris said against Tom's chin, biting and nipping before pulling back to meet his gaze again. To say it then, high on sex and buried deep inside Tom's warmth, could've been interpreted to mean that he had only missed Tom's body, missed fucking him, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.  
  
It was overwhelming to be surrounded by him and full of him, even sharing breath, and Tom shifted his knees to wrap his calves around Chris' thighs. "Move," he urged, digging his heels in. "Fuck me, please, _please_."  
  
And Chris did, pulling almost all of the way out until the crown of his cock tugged at Tom's clenching rim before powering all the way back inside. Tom lost all of his breath with it, grasping hard to Chris' shoulders.  
  
"Yeah," he gasped, nodding, "like that. Fuck me hard and deep like that. Like you used to."  
  
Maintaining eye contact, Chris reared back and did it again, weight on his elbows so he could watch Tom's face. Using the hand that wasn't in Tom's hair he grasped him by the thigh, sliding his thumb down to angle Tom's knee up again towards his chest.  
  
It was evident that he hadn't been an angel either; his hands much more efficient at wringing pleasure and his eyes much more attentive to Tom's needs. When he slid slow fingers behind Tom's knee and found that it made him writhe he kept them there, scraping short nails across the sensitive skin and chuckling into Tom's mouth when he whined.  
  
"Did you miss this?" He gritted out, powering in and out in a hard, steady rhythm. "Miss my cock?"  
  
There was no possible way Tom could lie, not with the sounds he was making. Each time he tried to close his mouth another moan forced its way out, more frequent as Chris picked up his pace.  
  
Scrambling to get more leverage on his knees pulled him out of Tom completely and they both groaned at the loss, Chris reaching down to right the condom again before pushing back inside in one shift thrust. The sound of skin on skin permeated the room as they picked up their rhythm again, Chris still holding Tom's knee up, looking down in intervals to watch his cock pound in and out of Tom's body.  
  
"Wish you could see this," he said, almost a growl, pressing his mouth distractedly to the inside of Tom's foot. "You were always so greedy for it, always needed my cock inside you."  
  
And, as short lived as their sexual relationship had been, that was the truth. From their first fuck until their last Tom had been unable to think of anything else when Chris wasn't inside of him. Even sore from hours of fucking he'd wanted more, craved the rough, careless way Chris stuffed him full.  
  
He'd struggled to sit down in the days following their first night and yet he'd crawled on top for more whenever they had a moment alone. He'd thought himself somewhat of a masochist as a result, but nobody else had made him want it the way Chris had.  
  
"Yeah," Tom grit out, rocked by Chris' thrusts. "But you were... _ah_...as desperate for it as I was."  
  
The room was too hot, full of tension and sex, the heating system ticking away to prevent the high wind creeping its cold into the suite. A drop of sweat rolled from Chris' hairline down past his eyebrow and Tom watched its path, aware of his own skin pebbling with perspiration.  
  
"You gonna come?" He whispered, fingers dancing a trail up and down his own stomach, trying to resist the urge to take himself in hand.  
  
Chris glanced up, brows drawn, as if he was determined to prove Tom wrong, but he was showing all the warning signs; his hands, clammy and hot, were tightening around Tom's ankle and hip, his forehead creased in the middle with his concentrated frown. His thrusts were beginning to falter, as they always had when he began to succumb to his need to come.  
  
"Wish you could come inside me," Tom sighed out, lifting his head to watch the tensing and clenching of Chris' abdomen. Chris had always come inside him, unabashed in the pleasure he got out of it. In the shower he'd finger Tom's hole clean and watch with wonder as his seed washed away down the drain.  
  
Chris' mouth twitched up at the corner. "You think I can't make you come first?"  
  
Tom shrugged, feeling playfully antagonistic. His fingers continued their tease up and down his own sides, more for Chris' benefit than his own. "You never could before."  
  
It hit a nerve, clearly, because Chris stopped completely - something which must've taken a lot of effort considering how close he was to coming - and panted down at Tom with a fairly annoyed expression.  
  
"That's hardly fair," he said, and when he shook his head it dislodged more of his hair and, in turn, sent a few more droplets of sweat down his forehead. "You always talked dirty and begged and grabbed my arse, I was powerless to stop it."  
  
In response Tom had to force himself not to smile, affecting a bored look. Carefully he clenched his inner muscles, overjoyed by the way Chris curled his body inwards and groaned, thrusting involuntarily into Tom, a shallow rocking of his hips that he didn't let up.  
  
"You fucking little-" he gritted out, grabbing both of Tom's wrists and slamming them up above his head. But for their nakedness they could've been playing video games or fighting over which bedroom they got in the summer house, because those things always ended this way - with Chris pinning Tom down like an angry lion.  
  
His hands were like dinner plates, long fingered and wide spread, and so he was able to hold Tom's wrists in place with one hand while he reached down between their bodies. Tom, although he tried, couldn't help moaning at the feel of Chris' fist around his cock.  
  
Long before they'd fucked, back when they were pretending to just be brothers, they'd watched porn together and wanked at opposite ends of the couch. Chris has started it, rubbing himself through his khaki pants and throwing glances Tom's way. Tom had watched the porn, rubbing himself too, and before long they'd both had their cocks out.  
  
Chris had watched Tom touch himself, mentally logging how he touched himself and what he liked, and he'd used that information to get Tom off quickly during their first shared shower, post sex.  
  
He hadn't forgotten, that was clear right away, as he fisted Tom's cock from base to angry-red tip, twisting his fist at the head on the upstroke the way Tom had always done to himself. It felt so good and coupled with the shallow, steady thrusts of Chris' hips Tom knew he wasn't going to last long.  
  
When he came he arched his back, toes and fingers curling as his body tensed up, and Chris choked out a hot, breathless sound and began to fuck into him in earnest.  
  
"Fuck yes," he grunted, hand still stuttering along Tom's sensitive cock, milking him as he came all over his own stomach and abdomen. "So hot."  
  
He kept thrusting for a minute or so after Tom had melted into the mattress, leg still held up at an odd angle over Chris' elbow. He shifted upwards with each hard thrust, Chris pounding relentlessly into his sensitised hole with what felt like all of his power.  
  
When he came he looked pained, beautiful, exhausted, and afterwards when he slumped down onto Tom's chest their skin stuck together with sweat and come. Both of them were breathing heavily, eyes closed, and Tom lifted a gentle hand to rub fingers through Chris' hair.  
  
It had been a long time since he'd given in to a post-coital cuddle, but this wasn't some business partner's closeted son or some waiter from a posh restaurant. This was Chris.  
  
"Do you know that I love you?" Chris suddenly murmured into the silence.  
  
Tom blinked, stiffly. "No," he said, because it was the truth. Chris had loved him, that was something he'd never questioned, but the thought that Chris still loved him now - had risen to fame and met thousands of actors and models and musicians and still loved Tom? That he wasn't so sure of. "I don't know that."  
  
Chris didn't lift his head, but his fingers tightened momentarily on Tom's skin. He sighed, his breath hot and wet against Tom's shoulder. "I guess I'll have to prove it to you then."  
  
They cleaned up in relative silence, both standing in the stark white light of the bathroom with fancy hotel wash cloths, each of them studying the body of the other unsubtly.  
  
Back in the bedroom Chris lay down on his side and rested his head on his palm, waiting for Tom to lie down too, but Tom shoved him over onto his back and lay half on top of him instead. The room smelled like sex and still felt too hot to sleep in, but he found himself relaxing with the steady thrum of Chris' heartbeat.  
  
"I got a letter from this kid five months ago," Chris breathed quietly, chest rising and falling beneath Tom's cheek. "Australian kid named Liam. Adopted too. He read my story in a magazine and reckoned he might be my brother."  
  
Tom swallowed, feeling the beginnings of a panicked jealousy curling around his chest. If Chris noticed the tension he didn't mention it.  
  
"So I got my assistant Hayley to contact the adoption agency and, sure enough..."  
  
Mouth dry, Tom lifted his head to rest his chin on Chris' solid pectoral. "He's your brother," he breathed. Not a question.  
  
Chris nodded. "I haven't met him yet, because his adoptive parents don't want him travelling outside of Australia alone and they can't take time off to come with him right now, so when the production is done with I'm heading out there for a week."  
  
Their parents had always feared Chris finding his real family. A purely selfish fear, that the boy they had come to think of as their own would stop thinking of them as his. It had never occurred to Tom that he would feel the same.  
  
"Wow. That's...big," he said, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
Chris hummed in agreement.  
  
"It's kind of weird to think of you with a brother," Tom admitted, because it had been an evening full of truths. "One who isn't me, I mean. I kind of liked having you to myself."  
  
Chris' laughter shook him, unsettling him from their embrace. "I'm not your brother."  
  
Tom hadn't expected that, and would've become indignant if Chris hadn't pulled him back down, planting a solid kiss on his mouth to shut him up.  
  
"Don't be greedy, Tom," he nudged, smoothing his hand down Tom's side. "I'm either your brother or I'm this. You can't have both."  
  
Tom shook his head, blinking away the blur of his watery eyes. "I was under the impression I couldn't have either."  
  
Expression softening, Chris rolled them over until he was lying on top of Tom, leaning close and nudging his nose along Tom's cheek and the corner of his mouth. When he spoke he was all eye contact and sincerity; both things that Tom was powerless against. "You can have whatever you want. You just have to give me time."  
  
And when Tom exhaled he felt like his escaping breath carried with it a weight from his chest. "I can do that."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Lights Out, Words Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vglxk3JbHnQ) by Bombay Bicycle Club.


End file.
